


The Ascendant Fallen

by LoriStori



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Child Abuse, Crack Treated Seriously, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Manipulation, Manipulative Dumbledore, Manipulative Voldemort, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-17 12:23:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoriStori/pseuds/LoriStori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is said that when the Old One breaks free, the Ascendant will Rise and banish him from existence. Born to the Angels Fallen from the Graces of God, raised by the worst of those he would one day save, the Ascendant must rise above his nature and the nurture of his years and become something... more. And he will be known as the Raven of Worth. Formerly Ignorant Bliss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What We Didn't Know Hurt Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a more serious fic. Starts out summer before fifth year. Everything is completely canon up to then, but after that, all bets are off.
> 
> I believe that I may want a serious reviewer for this story as well, similar to the one I'm looking for with Power of Insanity (my only DGM fanfic). If you're interested, post a review to this chapter, telling me what went well and what could have gone better and what was completely stupid. Doesn't have to be long, just detailed enough for me to get an idea of what I should fix. Four to five sentences will suffice.
> 
> If you like this fic enough, and want me to continue it, drop a review and let me know. This would probably be one of the only truly serious fics that I have at the moment. The Sands of Power is another one (it's a Naruto fic, and it's up for adoption if anyone's interested – just see my profile), but still not as serious as this one might end up being.
> 
> By the way, thought I'd drop a little story shout-out here. If any of you readers really like reading Dark!Abused!Harry fics, I'd recommend When Daylight Dies by BloodyRose90. The summary for the story is complete crap, but the story itself is amazingly well written, with an excellent plot and an interesting twist right at the very beginning. Just a slight warning though – the pairing for the fic is a slash between Harry and Draco, and, though nothing intimate has happened yet, at all, there are still pretty impressive hints that tell you exactly where it's going. Drarry isn't really my thing, but the story is too good to pass up, so, even if you hate that pairing, I'd recommend giving it a try anyway.
> 
> Enough of my rambling.
> 
> Enjoy your first glimpse of

**Ignorant Bliss**

**Chapter One:**

**What We Didn't Know Hurt Him**

The stairs creaked as someone walked up them, but Harry didn't care. He cared about so little these days. Ever since he returned to the Dursley's after the end of his fourth year, he had found that he had only enough will left inside of himself to survive, in the barest sense of the term. He didn't care about living. Life was overrated anyway.

He was sitting on his cot, back against the wall, knees drawn as close to his chest as he could possibly get them. His emerald green eyes glowed eerily from behind his dark fringe of black hair. He stared out at the night sky beyond his window. He didn't have his glasses on, but it didn't matter. Even when they were on, he couldn't see any better.

He was waiting at the moment. Waiting for the soft rustle of feathers and that flash of blinding white that came when his beautiful snowy owl soared into his room.

His one companion. His one friend. The one thing that had stuck by him, regardless of what had happened to him.

The door creaked open, and Harry glanced at the five blurry shapes that stood there, before looking away again.

They could be Death Eaters at the moment and Harry wouldn't care. All he cared about was seeing Hedwig come home.

"Harry?" Harry barely registered the fact that the voice sounded like Remus Lupin. He thought he had just caught a flash of white outside his window.

"You don't know that for sure, Lupin. Potter!" A voice that sounded like his last DADA teacher, Professor Moody growled at him.

Harry ignored the man as he watched the white blur come closer. The wonderful rustle of feathers, the flash of white, and there she was, perched on his knees, staring into his eyes with something like concern.

He felt something drop into his lap, and picked it up. It was a dead mouse. He looked back at his bird and shook his head. The amber eyes lowered in sadness and Harry felt his heart wrench even as he gave the mouse back to his friend.

He couldn't eat it. He would just end up throwing it back up, and that was a horrible waste of perfectly good food that Hedwig could eat instead.

"That's definitely Harry, Moody." Remus voice came from the door.

"Aye, I can't argue with that. His familiar would know, after all." Moody's voice growled back.

"Harry, come on. We've come to take you away from here."

Harry looked up at them for a moment, five shapes too blurry for him to be able to discern who was who. His eyes wandered from shape to shape, before vaguely resting on a shape that had a strange color on it. A vibrant bubble-gum pink color rested on the shape's head.

Harry tilted his head to the side, then looked back at Hedwig. The bird nodded to him and jumped off his knees. Harry stood up, moving completely silently, and looked quietly at the people who stood at his door.

The blurriness was hurting his eyes, so he closed them, which meant that he didn't notice one of the shapes move closer to him until he was grabbed roughly by his shoulder.

He bit back a hiss of pain. That was the shoulder that Uncle Vernon had broken recently. He wished whoever it was that had grabbed him would have been gentler.

"Come on, Potter, let's get you away from here." Moody's voice was surprisingly gentle when it said that.

The boy shrugged, turned his head, eyes still closed, towards his owl. Hedwig hooted and then the boy felt a familiar and comfortable weight settle on his other, unbroken shoulder. He shot a smile at the girl. His owl was amazingly intuitive.

"Harry, where are your glasses?" Remus' voice brought Harry back to the situation at hand.

Harry tilted his head to the side, feeling thoughtful. When was the last time he had seen those stupid things, anyway? Shaking his head, Harry shrugged, unable to remember and unwilling to care.

"Well, you can't go anywhere if you can't see," Remus muttered.

Harry shrugged again. He didn't care. It's difficult to care about much in places such as the one he was in. He walked towards the door; eyes still closed and felt people make way for him as he passed the threshold of his room to the hallway beyond. Unerringly, he made his way to the bottom floor, without as much as a creak of a floorboard or a squeak of a stair to mark his passing.

He'd had too much practice walking through this house – no, this prison - while trying to be silent for him to even be capable of making noise in it now.

Even when he walked out the front door he didn't make a sound. But the people that followed him did. He kept walking, down the driveway, down the street, and he was almost at the end of the road when someone called his name. He turned his head towards the sound. His eyes were still closed but he could tell it was from the direction of his old prison.

"Harry, come back here. We have to take you to headquarters." Remus' voice was somewhat reprimanding. Huh. Harry tilted his head again. That was a new tone that he hadn't heard before. He wasn't sure if it fit Remus though.

He shrugged, and headed back to the people that stood waiting for him outside the Dursley home.

"Harry, where are your things?" Remus asked kindly. Harry tilted his head again – it was becoming a bit of a habit – before walking back into the house. The people followed him and he gestured towards the cupboard door.

"Why are they in there?" A girl's voice asked. Harry opened his eyes and looked to see that it was the shape that had pink on it that had asked that. He closed his eyes again before turning towards the kitchen.

"There is no such thing as magic here." Harry didn't notice the winces that followed the sound of his voice, harsh and guttural from lack of use as it was.

"What do you mean by that?" the girl's voice asked again.

Harry tilted his head at her, before shrugging and not deigning to give an answer.

He heard the sound of the cupboard door opening and the click of a flashlight – followed by gasps and a quiet scream.

"Oh my god..." he heard Remus' voice say.

Harry decided that he didn't want to be inside the house at the moment, and walked out the back door into the yard. He stood there, his white owl on his shoulder, face turned up towards the sky with a gentle smile on his face as he felt a cool breeze caress him. He turned his head to his owl and raised his hand to pet her, the gentle smile still on his face.

"Potter!" He heard a growl from behind him, and turned his head to face the door. "Potter, whose blood is that on the walls of that cupboard?" Only Moody could make a growling voice sound concerned.

Harry turned back to the sky, his gentle smile turned into a frown as dark memories resurfaced in his mind. "My own." His quiet voice carried well in the silence that had fallen upon the discovery of that torture chamber.

There were more gasps before he felt someone approach him from behind. He continued to just pet the bird, ignoring the figure.

"It's going to be okay, Harry. We're going to get you out of here. C'mon, let's go."

And with that, Harry felt someone grab his elbow and he was whisked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for the record, everything from books 1-4 is canon, however, after that everything is AU. No dementors attacked Harry in Little Whinging because Harry hasn't left his room since he arrived at the place. The Order members are there to pick him up because Dumbledore decided it was time for Harry to move to HQ, not because he thought Harry was in danger.
> 
> I'm not sure if I'll continue this or not, but it's quite possible that I might. It sounds pretty good so far, but I'm not sure how long that will last, to be honest.
> 
> Guess we'll just have to wait and see.


	2. The Truth Without Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter turned out different than how I thought it should, and yet better than I had been expecting it would. Interesting combination, that.
> 
> Yeah, it's probably pretty cliché, but then again, I love clichés, and this won't end up being a never-ending cliché where Harry joins the Dark Side and starts waving a mother-fucking lightsaber around or anything. (Hail, Yoda!)
> 
> Unless he gets into that.
> 
> However, just for the record, there's a piece in here that looks like it's going to be heading directly towards "OMG that's so overdone, please tell me she wouldn't do that to us" – WELL, YOU'RE RIGHT! I wouldn't dream of doing that to you, my little munchkins, so don't worry. The next chapter will explain it, but no, Hermione is not going to be like Harry ended up in this chapter, I promise.
> 
> Though, she might end up wishing she was. She's kind of into that.
> 
> But enough of this.
> 
> Allow me to introduce you to the second chapter of:

**Ignorant Bliss**

**Chapter Two:**

**The Truth Without Us**

It was an interesting sensation, to be Apparated. It felt as though he was being squeezed through a tube, and any air in his lungs was being forced out. Harry wondered why anyone would want to travel in such a way. It was unpleasant.

He felt the sensation stop, but didn't bother to open his eyes. He raised his hand and reached for the feeling of downy feathers. When his hand encountered nothing, he finally opened his eyes, and stared at the person who still had his hand on Harry's elbow.

"Where is Hedwig?" He demanded in a soft tone. His voice was still harsh from lack of use, which only added to the dangerous undertone in his speech.

"Animals can't be apparated like people. You're bird will have to fly here." Harry was starting to find Moody's guttural growl to be annoying.

Harry closed his eyes and blanked his mind completely of any thoughts. He didn't want to deal with the fact that he didn't have his friend with him at the moment, so he decided to deal with the most immediate thing that he noticed in his surroundings.

"Why is... there a number missing between ten and fourteen on this street?" Harry could feel himself raising an eyebrow as he found himself incapable of saying the number that was actually missing. That was interesting.

"Potter, can you read anything at the moment?" Moody's voice was still grating on his nerves.

Harry tilted his head to the side and gave what essentially amounted to a "What do you think, dumbass?" look in the old Auror's direction. Even with his eyes closed, Harry pulled the look off with perfection.

"Right, dumb question." Harry felt someone move close to him, and he felt a whisper of breath next to his ear. "Just think as hard as you can about the words '#12 Grimmauld Place', will you?"

Harry didn't really have to think very hard about those words. As soon as he heard them, something in his mind clicked and he raised his head and opened his eyes as he felt some kind of... charm fall away.

Harry tilted his head, before walking forwards toward the door of the apartment that had now been revealed. He didn't notice the rest of the people staying close behind him, nor did he really care. Opening the door, he felt a curious sensation of warmth spread through his body. It felt... nice. Like he had just returned to some place very familiar.

Since Harry had no word for "home" in his personal dictionary, he did not know that what he was feeling was what he should have felt at the Dursley's for all of the years that he spent there.

Nor would he understand the sensation for a while yet. And it would be an even longer period of time before he would understand the implications of him feeling at home in a place such as the one he was in at that moment.

He walked further into the place. The house was a strange one, with weird angles, and tight spaces that were difficult to fit in. He heard a crash behind him, and turned around to see the person with pink hair had tripped over what Harry assumed was some kind of side table, though he couldn't be sure since he couldn't really see it.

At the sound of the crash, Harry suddenly heard a shrieking voice above him.

" _Filthy mudbloods, traitors the lot of you! Out, get out, you defile this place! This home of the purest of pure, how dare filth such as you enter it! I will blast you back to the mud from whence you came!"_  Harry heard the voice continue along that train, and, feeling curious, followed it to the source.

There, on a landing of the stairs, was a portrait of a snarling woman that looked remarkably like Sirius. Harry tilted his head and read the inscription below the shrieking woman. It read: _Walburga Black, devoted mother and wife. Toujours Pur._

"Always pure," Harry murmured. He blinked as he realized that he no longer heard the woman screaming her lungs out, and looked up to see the woman staring at him contemplatively. Harry tilted his head, curious, at her. "May I help you?" He asked quietly.

"You, boy, do not look anything like the others here – that vile filth that haunts this place. Tell me – what is your name?"

"They call me Harry Potter."

"So you are the one whom vanquished that petty man? I must thank you, then. Such filth has no right to think it can govern us pure-bloods, and the mere fact that there are those who think to follow him makes them undeserving of their heritage. But if you truly are Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Potter nee Evans, than you are a half-blood – and the refuting evidence of that stands before me. You have the look of royalty, boy, not of some mudblood bitch and her consort. You say they call you Harry Potter. What, then, do you call yourself?"

Harry did not know that he had an audience at the moment. He did not know that everyone currently in that house was watching the conversation between the renowned shrieking portrait of Walburga Black and him. If he had known, he would never have said his next words.

"I call myself many things, Madam Black. But if you ask me what I call myself as a name, then I will tell you that I call myself Raven. Raven Worth," Harry said. He did not hear the small, quiet gasp that sounded from somewhere above him.

"And why do you call yourself such?" Walburga asked him with a smile that stunned those who knew of her personality.

"Because I know what those names mean and I know that they define me as I truly am." Harry was no longer much aware of his surroundings. He was entranced by this portrait of this Lady. No one had ever asked him such questions – nor would he have ever given such answers until today.

He did not know that his truthfulness was due to his Awakening. His presence in the House of Black had awakened something long forgotten and deeply buried. But, in the haze of what was now happening, that something was coming to fruition.

"And what are you, truly?" He heard the woman as if from a great distance, but answered, nonetheless.

"I am Raven-haired and without worth. I am son of Andras, child of Belial, Angels Fallen from the Graces of God. I am Raven Worth, child of the Fallen Darkness."

And as the words left his mouth, a haze over took his form, and a sphere of golden light overcame him, and as it encompassed him, those in the house fell to their knees as some massive power shook the foundations of the place they were in. They watched as the golden sphere hid the one they knew as Harry Potter from view, and then suddenly burst outward towards them, and everyone, save a chocolate-eyed brunette watching quietly from behind a door in the landing just above, found themselves cast out of the building.

Left outside the place they had gathered to, they watched as the house was hidden from view. They bore witness to the infuriating feeling of loss that came with knowledge that you once knew being taken from you, as the Fidelius charm that had kept the House of Black hidden was claimed by someone else, and they no longer knew the secret.

But there was something they did not bear witness to that happened to them. What they had just seen, what they had just witnessed happening to the supposed Saviour of the Wizarding World, was wiped clean from their memories, and replaced with other memories, memories that did not exist but that they believed to have happened.

As they stood there on the sidewalk, they no longer remembered seeing Harry Potter in that house. They no longer remembered the conversation held between the raven-haired boy and the portrait of Walburga Black.

Instead, they remembered Sirius Black having a conversation with the portrait of his deceased mother, and said portrait casting him out of the family once more, saying there was someone more worthy of the title of Lord Black. They remembered feeling themselves torn from the house as those words left the snarling woman's lips. They remembered the feeling of slamming into the ground outside, looking up at the place as it was hidden from their view.

They remembered nothing as it had truly been.

* * *

Many miles away, a golden sphere encompassed a snowy white owl as she flew threw a dark forest, heading for her human Bond Mate. As the golden sphere expanded, the owl inside it dropped unconscious, but didn't fall immediately to the ground. Inside the bubble of light, her shape started changing.

Her feet grew longer, became human. Her wings moved back, and she grew arms. Her head changed shape, and her beak was lost in place of shapely lips colored golden that enticed one to kiss them. She grew long, snowy white hair that fell in waves to her feet. And her body grew out, became human and womanly shaped. She looked like a goddess taken human form.

The owl, now turned into the figure of a woman, was gently lowered to the ground by the golden sphere of light. She opened her eyes, and amber colored lights shone under her white eyelashes. She looked up and a whispered word, spoken in a voice that had never before been used, was spoken in the night, and took shape, echoing even as the winged woman took flight once more, disappearing into the night.

_"Ra...ven..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will probably involve the point of view of Hermione at some point. And might I say, I had no idea that this story would head in this direction (I actually had no idea where I was headed with this story, and after finishing this chapter, decided to edit the summary just a bit. The original summary is on my profile for now, but I'll probably replace it with the current one sometime soon). I actually thought that I would make Harry a Black by birth, but then, while I was typing, I realized that you wouldn't really know your surname instinctively like that. So I started thinking... what kinds of things about yourself would you know on an instinctual level, from the time you were born?
> 
> And, well, one thing led to another, and here I am with a completely unprecedented story twist that I was not expecting, and yet, it still fits in with the rest of what I was thinking of doing with this.
> 
> By the way, this does not in any way mean that Harry, now Raven, is going to go dark. He won't be joining Dark Lord Moldy-shorts, nor will he be cozying up to Death Munchers. You know what he will be doing?
> 
> He'll be saving a whole bunch of people from the machinations of two old men, and then he'll be showing the world the truth behind Dumbledore and Voldemort.
> 
> Those manipulative bastards...
> 
> Not going to give a whole lot else away, but I think this will be a good story now that I actually have an idea of where it might end up going.
> 
> Probably somewhat cliché in this chapter, and I apologize for that, as I didn't mean for it to happen that way, it just did.
> 
> Anyways, that's about all I've got to say now, so this is LoriStori, signing off.
> 
> Ciao.


	3. The History Between Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are lucky that this story is exciting me, otherwise you'd never have another chapter out on the very same day that the last one came.
> 
> You lucky bastards, you.
> 
> Don't start thinking this is going to start becoming a habit, though. I definitely don't update this often. It's just that the last update got me excited and had my muse working overtime, so I thought that I might as well use the gift while it was being freely given.
> 
> Regardless of the speed
> 
> Enjoy your next read
> 
> Of the nefarious deeds of

**Ignorant Bliss**

**Chapter Three:**

**The History Between Us**

It is said that the devil's greatest victory was in convincing the world that he doesn't exist. The truth of the matter is that there are a great many people who knew that the devil exists – from stories passed down through the ages to depictions of monstrosities that convince people that there is a higher evil than what they could be capable of, there are a great many people who know that the devil exists.

But these days, there are few, very few people who know that the Devil exists.

You may ask yourself what the difference is. A mere capital letter changes nothing, does it? Ah, but there, you would be wrong.

A capital letter, in this case, changes  _everything._

A devil is nothing more or less than a monster. A grotesque figure in modern day myths, a term that can be used interchangeably with the word "monster", or "fiend". A figure, an effigy of a thing from long ago, that, while once having been feared, is now ridiculed and watered down, no longer a thing beyond the realm of eldritch nightmares, but now a thing of bed-time terrors, so watered down, in fact, that people even go so far as to call them  _cute._

Time, it seems, does nothing to shed the stupidity of the human mind.

However, there is a vast difference between a devil, and the Devil.

Not many can say they know anything about the Devil and be telling the truth. The Devil is not the ruler of Hell – that is Sorath's realm, after all. The Devil is, nothing more or less than, the ultimate bringer of destruction. He is an eldritch abomination, a thing so vast in it's cruel desires and desperate hunger that it heeds the cries of nothing save itself and its own insatiable cravings.

What is more, the Devil has not been seen, heard, nor sensed in any way in nearly a thousand years, and rightly so – for he was banished, banished by his own followers.

The Fallen.

They had followed him down from Heaven, believing that he was right in his assumption that God had placed far too much faith in those things He lovingly called humans, and they had followed him as he waged war. However, when they lost the war against God, they had seen what the Devil had truly become, and what the humans could one day achieve.

Disgusted, both with themselves and with the  _thing_ they once followed, they banished their one-time leader beyond the seven realms of Hell, to a prison meant to last Eternity.

But it was not to be.

As the last bars fell upon the Devil's containment, one of the Fallen, Gusion, the Angel who could see the past, present, and the future, predicted the time when the Devil would break free of its prison, and seek to destroy everything in his unholy rage. And only the Ascendant, born to two of the Fallen, stolen and raised by the worst of those he would one day save, would be able to defeat Him.

And so the Fallen pledged themselves, and all their descendants, to helping humankind, the very people they had once tried to kill, fight to achieve its greatest height and glory while preparing for the day that the resurrection of the Devil becomes a reality.

And time wore on, and the Fallen had children of their own, and those children had children, and, with every generation that went by, the stories that had been passed down through the ages, of a day when the Devil would come knocking, passed out of conscious knowledge. Stories became legends. Legends became a myth. And that myth became a truth so rarely understood as to never warrant any belief.

And as time wore on, the prison of the Devil grew weaker, and the time for the Ascendant drew closer, with no one any wiser to the implications. For it was said that when the Ascendant Awakens, his Rising shall put the Power of the Fallen ones to shame.

And now, that day has come, and the one whom has been bestowed with the gifts necessary to carry out his task has stirred in his dreamless sleep.

Henceforth, he shall be known as the Raven of Worth.

* * *

She had never liked her name. Hermione Granger was such a dull moniker, after all. Difficult to pronounce, difficult to spell, difficult to  _like_. Indeed, she had many valid reasons to dislike her name. She could list them all seven different ways, backwards, forwards, and in alphabetical order to boot.

There was one reason, however, that she had to dislike her name that she refused to ever say to anyone but herself.

After all, who would believe her if she said that the reason she disliked her name was because it wasn't truly hers?

Indeed, no one would believe such a reason, however true it might be.

For it was true. Hermione knew that her name was not what people thought it was.

She wasn't sure how she knew. There was no factual basis for her belief, no statistical data to turn to, no frame of reference that she could adhere to that could justify her knowledge. It was just a feeling, an instinct, a jolt in her gut whenever someone yelled "Hermione!" accompanied by the thought,  _That is not my name_. Yet, no matter how deep her belief ran, she never was able to find a name better suited towards herself than the one that she already had.

Hermione Granger.

Even now, it sounded like the name of a stranger.

She had never once thought that there might be someone else out there that felt the same way that she did. Never once thought, in a million years, that such a person could exist. After all, it was just a fantasy of hers, a desire for a better, more interesting name. There was nothing to base her instinct off of, so it must be nothing more than a whim of childish fancy, a phase that she had gone through. Even the quiet disbelief that those thoughts brought did not change her mind, and, eventually, the disbelief left her, replaced by conviction.

It was all in her head. The feeling was nothing more than a fantasy.

She could never have guessed that her best friend had felt the same.

As she watched the sphere of golden light encompass her friend of nearly five years, all she could think was that she had been wrong. It wasn't all in her head. And not only that, but her best friend had found the answer to the question that she had asked herself for so many years.

_What is my name?_

Her best friend knew. He called himself Raven Worth. It was fitting, somehow, far more fitting than his previous moniker of Harry Potter. She had noticed, over the years, how he occasionally would take a moment before answering to that name. Now she understood why. That wasn't his true name and he knew it.

What, then, is her name?

She didn't know. She had stopped trying to understand a long time ago. She had given up when she should have kept going. She had left the trail and now, it was buried far too deep to be able to follow again.

She didn't know her name.

And it was too late to discover now.

_She would never know her true name._

As a tear rolled down her cheek at the silent realization, she watched as the golden sphere of light that encompassed her best friend, now known to her as Raven Worth, floated to the floor and gently set its occupant down before fading from existence.

Hermione got up and cautiously made her way down to her best friend. She kneeled beside him and looked at his face.

Since when had he become so... beautiful?

Indeed, his face was pale and angelic, his messy black hair arrayed around his face in such a way as to leave nothing less than an image of perfection behind. His long eyelashes stood out in stark contrast to his white skin yet still enhanced his overall appearance. Even his lips were perfect – pink and shapely, full without detracting from the fact that he was male.

When had her friend become like this?

Hermione didn't know, but at the moment, did not care. It was obvious to her that her friend was unconscious, and that staying where he was until he awoke might lead to problems that she did not wish to deal with at the moment.

And so, with a swish of her wand – for she knew that no magic could be detected behind the wards of the house she was in – Hermione Granger levitated her friend up the stairs ahead of her and into the room he would have shared with Ron. She didn't know where that red-haired git was at the moment, nor anyone else in this house either, and frankly didn't care.

As she set the raven-haired boy down on a bed, she heard a rustling behind her, turning just quickly enough to catch a glimpse of something white shooting past, and as she turned back to see what it was, she caught sight of something that took her breath away.

A white-haired angel sat next to her friend as he lay prone on his bed. It sat clumsily, as if not used to having a human body, but even the awkward way that it moved could not detract from the beauty that this angel had.

And as Hermione watched, this white-haired angel folded its wings and wrapped its arms and legs around her friend, before giving a quiet sigh of contentment and whispering two words that echoed in Hermione's mind even as she left the room, closing the door behind herself.

" _Found... you..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With regards to the opening snatch of poetry, please allow me to wave away any fault that may be attached to me with a subtly cast impervious charm along with the excuse that the muse was almost gone anyway and rhyming is a bad bit of business best left for professionals like Shel Silverstein.
> 
> With that said, I believe that this story has taken an interesting turn now. Did you all enjoy the small history lesson at the beginning of the chapter? I must admit that I did enjoy writing it. It was an interesting bit of creative writing that I may or may not repeat sometime in the (not so) distant future.
> 
> Also, if any of you are wondering, Hermione actually is, in fact, similar to Harry (who I'm going to start referring to as Raven from here on out, so be forewarned) – just in a different way. You'll understand later, as it will be explained, along with the reason why she'll never know her true name. I'm just making sure that nobody starts jumping any guns or loading the canons before I give the signal that we're under attack.
> 
> Sorry, the previous analogy ran away from me a bit.
> 
> Moving on, I don't have much else to say, except that you may actually get another chapter fairly soon (no promises, but it's a distinct possibility), simply because this story is beginning to excite me.
> 
> Also, for anyone who's following Power of Insanity, and would like me to continue that story right now instead of following up some more with this one, drop by my profile and let me know. I have a poll up right now on FF.Net asking which story I should focus more on (not that I would ignore one over the other, just that I would probably update the "main" one more often than the other). Since that option isn't really available here, just pm me with your preferences, and I'll add it to the overall votes going on back on FF.net
> 
> Just a suggestion if you enjoy crack more than plot.
> 
> With nothing else to say, this is LoriStori signing out.
> 
> Ciao.


	4. How the Past Changes the Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay people, here’s the next installment. Now, I’ve noticed that a lot of people seem to think that Hermione isn’t actually Hermione. This is not true, but is difficult to explain why unless you understand the fact that this story deals heavily with the idea of people’s True Names.
> 
> If any of you have ever read Eragon or the Inheritance Cycle by Christopher Paolini, you’ll understand what I mean by that. People’s True Names are powerful things. Knowing a person’s True Name can give you absolute power over that person, or an in-depth understanding of them, or some other kind of thing, depending on your personal beliefs.
> 
> In my story, knowing another person’s True Name doesn’t give you absolute power over them, however, it does allow you to have a modicum of control over their actions if you’re good at manipulation and understand the meaning behind that person’s name. It’s a little bit difficult to explain, but you’ll understand if you pay attention.
> 
> This is where Hermione comes in. Yes, that is her name – it is the name that her parents gave her, it is on her birth certificate, and every other official documentation of her life. However, it is not her True Name, and a part of Hermione is aware of this. Why she is aware of this will become more evident as the story progresses – she’s not a descendant of anything, she’s exactly like she is in canon, heritage-wise. However, I decided to take her amazingly brilliant mind that everyone knows about and give it an ability that one might not necessarily always think of with regards to her.
> 
> You’ll understand what I mean by that when I get to that part in the story.
> 
> By the way, some of you may have noticed that the title and summary of this story have changed. This is because, during the course of trying to continue it instead of leaving it as a one-shot like I had originally planned (yes, I had planned on doing that, mainly because I was fond of the idea of allowing people’s imaginations to run wild), I realized that the plot had changed somewhat drastically from how it first began. So I changed the summary to give readers a better idea of what they were getting into, and I also changed the title, so that it also fit a bit more with the storyline.
> 
> I apologize to those of you who got confused.
> 
> Now then, with the explanations out of the way, let’s move on to the story, shall we?
> 
> Without any more stalling on my part,
> 
> Allow me to give you

**The Ascendant Fallen**

**Chapter Four**

**How the Past Changes the Present**

There were two people that Raven Worth respected in the world. One of them was Albus Dumbledore, Raven’s Headmaster at Hogwarts. This was not because the man was so powerful or held so much authority over him, though both of those things were undoubtedly true. Rather, this respect was gained by the subtle manipulations and quiet machinations that he had observed originating from the man over the years. The man was a puppet-master genius. It was enlightening to watch as the one people dubbed as the “Light Lord” worked his way into people’s minds and made them do exactly what he wanted, precisely how he wanted them to do it.

A skill worthy of any kind of Lord, truly, even those of a darker perversion.

However, the second person that Raven respected was most likely the one person that everyone assumed that he wanted dead. And yes, while he did wish to kill the man, Raven was honest enough, at least with himself, to know that he respected his arch-nemesis, the self-styled Lord Voldemort, a great deal more than he did Albus Dumbledore.

For, if there was anything that he had ever liked about Lord Voldemort, it was his honest domination. You always knew your place, on your knees, no mind-fucking necessary with that monster. He had witnessed the man’s presence back in the graveyard at the end of his fourth year. The man exuded an aura such that it made you want to bow your head and grovel for acceptance. Raven knew this. He had experienced it himself, and knew that such an aura was even more compelling than any _Imperius_ curse anyone else could possibly hope to cast.

And for a small moment, a part of Raven had wished that he could call upon such power.

But that small moment was destroyed as he opened his eyes and looked at the one who had that power. He looked into the eyes of the man who dominated over all of those around him by his mere presence. He looked into eyes the color of blood, and suddenly, he knew what insanity looked like. Suddenly, he knew exactly what Voldemort, the Dark Lord, Leader of the Death Eaters truly was.

He was a man drunk and turned insane by his own power.

When Raven knew that, he found a new understanding in the age-old adage of “Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely”.

No wonder Voldemort wished to destroy all muggles and muggleborns. He was too insane to understand what that would do to the magical population.

But still, even though he knew exactly what that power would do to him, there was a voice in the back of his head that whispered to him. The voice was tempting, promising him things that he had no right to wish for yet knew that a dark part of him wanted. It promised him revenge on his tormentors, the satisfaction of watching as the ones who tried to beat him down to nothing had their own punishments turned back on them with a pain worse than they were ever capable of achieving. It promised him the ability to have anything he wanted, achieve whatever height he wished, if he simply embraced this darker side of himself, and forgot his inner light.

And Raven knew what following that voice would do to him. The world had no need for another Voldemort, another Dark Lord. There was no need for another man like Albus Dumbledore, to play god and act the savior, while secretly committing crimes for his own “greater good”. The world had no need of such things, and with good reason.

And Raven knew this instinctively, knew it as well as he knew the sound of that guileful voice that whispered to him.

And even though he knew that he shouldn’t listen, still...

What a silken song it sang!

It was so tempting...

In fact, he could hear it now, that tempting song in the shadowed depths of his heart, trying to sing him into that tempting darkness...

Raven shook his head, and left that place within himself. He should not be listening to that voice. Its promises were empty, and its voice smoothed silken by ash.

He shouldn’t listen to it, truly.

But, sometimes, shouldn’t isn’t good enough.

Raven knew that voice would speak to him again. And Raven also knew that he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to ignore it, like he knew he should.

Because, sometimes, _shouldn’t_ isn’t good enough.

Sometimes, _shouldn’t_ doesn’t mean _won’t_.

* * *

 

Raven faded into awareness slowly. There was something... different about his surroundings that his senses were trying to tell him. What was it...?

Ah. There. That was it.

There was someone else in his bed.

Raven knew that his normal reaction to this would have been to jump about five feet into the air and yell his head off. He knew that that was exactly what he would have done had this happened not long ago. And yet, while he couldn’t explain it, he felt no reason to freak out about his situation.

There was something calming about the feeling of closeness that he had with the person beside him. Raven wondered who could possibly be capable of causing him to feel so peaceful.

Opening his eyes, he was met with the beautiful round lights of an angel’s irises.

Amber golden eyes met his, and he realized that this angel was smiling at him. He cocked his head to the side, staring at the woman beside himself. The white hair and amber eyes reminded him of something. The golden lips also brought forth a feeling of familiarity that he couldn’t quite place. And then, he saw the woman’s wings. His eyes widened, and he smiled.

Angel or Post Owl, Raven would always be able to recognize his beautiful familiar’s distinctive plumage.

“And how are you this morning, my beautiful Hedwig?” Raven whispered, wrapping his arms around his owl-turned-human and holding her close to himself.

“ _Raven. My Raven_.” The woman’s voice was soft, and sounded somewhat strange, as if she wasn’t used to using it. But the feeling of warmth inherent in her words could not be mistaken, nor could her sparkling eyes be taken in any way other than happiness.

Raven smiled, and tightened his arms around his personal angel protectively. He had always protected Hedwig, and that would never change, even if she herself did.

After all, no matter what happened, Hedwig would always be the most precious being in his heart. That, at least, would never change.

* * *

 

Hermione Granger was reading in the library when she decided that she should probably check on Harry – no, she corrected herself somewhat cynically. He had never truly been Harry Potter, had he? He had said so himself – he had always referred to himself as Raven. Raven Worth.

It was a fitting name, and Hermione was desperate to find her own true name. She assumed that Raven would be able to help her with that.

Getting up, she bookmarked her place in the tome she was reading, before setting it down and heading towards the room that she had set the raven-haired boy in last night. As she rounded the corner, she stopped short, eyes widening as she caught sight of said boy stepping out the door of his room.

_What..._

She couldn’t speak. Her voice seemed frozen as she looked at her friend of five years. Her heart was beating erratically, and she felt like her heart was in her throat. Then, he turned to look at her, and Hermione felt all of the blood rush to her face.

_What is this?_

She had never seen a face like his. She had never seen anyone as beautiful as he was. And at the moment, she couldn’t even say a word in his presence, finding herself devoid of speech and all rational thought.

_What’s happening to me?_

She didn’t know, but she hoped that she would be able to find out.

Suddenly, she felt a hand touch her face, warm and inviting. She had been so caught up in her thoughts that she hadn’t realized that Raven had gotten so close to her. She looked into his emerald eyes, and her blush increased seven-fold.

_What is he doing?_

“Good morning, Hermione. How are you?”

Hermione almost fainted at the sound of his voice. It was musical and melodic, husky and somewhat rough... God dammit, what was wrong with her? She had never acted like this around her best friend before!

“Hermione?” The concern in his voice caused her to suddenly feel like she was floating.

_What is happening to me?_

“I-I-“ She took a deep breath, trying to get rid of her stuttering. She looked away from his eyes, and found it easier to speak. “I’m fine. But, um... what exactly happened last night, Raven?”

She didn’t notice his eyes widening at the name she used, but when she looked back up, she caught sight of the surprise in his face. His widened eyes drew her in, and felt like she was losing herself, drowning in a sea of emerald green.

The moment was broken as his eyes narrowed somewhat, and she found herself on the receiving end of a calculating look that made a shiver go down her spine. Somehow, though, even though the look caused her chills, the effect of them did nothing to detract from his looks.

“What exactly are you referring to, Hermione?” His voice sounded cautious, and Hermione found herself desperate to prove that he had no reason to be wary of her, prove that he could trust her with anything, even with his darkest of secrets.

“N-nothing, just that, well, when you were talking with that portrait, um, you said some strange things, and then, um, something happened, and you were surrounded by light, and the house shook and when it stopped, everyone was gone, it was just you and me, and then some angel came in while you were asleep, and I was really worried and, um...” Hermione suddenly paused as she realized that she was babbling pretty badly, and peeked up at her friend’s eyes to see them sparkling with amusement. She suddenly blurted out, “Are you okay, Raven?”

The look in his eyes softened, and she felt her knees become weak as he wrapped his arms around her. Hesitantly, she hugged him back, and heard him whisper, “Yes, Hermione. I’m okay. I’m just fine, I promise. Thanks for worrying about me.”

When he said those words, so close to her ear that she could actually feel the warmth of his breath, Hermione’s heart jumped, and this time, she really _did_ faint.

It was too bad that she didn’t get to witness Raven picking her up bridal-style, carrying her to the room next to his, and laying her down on the bed.

If she had, she might have even fainted a second time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. That’s the end of this chapter. Most of what I had to say, I said at the beginning, so I think I’ll just leave off with a thank you to all of those who review, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter.
> 
> LoriStori signing off.
> 
> Ciao.


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